


The One Who Wasn't There

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's the last of the Athosians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Who Wasn't There

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006, early S3, before either 'The Return' or the missing Athosians plotline in S4.
> 
> For an anonymouse who requested a ficlet: John/Teyla: Teyla's the last of the Athosians

She’s quiet on the flight out from Atlantis, with a tension that fills the ‘jumper cockpit and chokes all conversation.

As they fly over the sea, John takes his attention from the controls.

He doesn’t look away from the status boards or the windscreen, but his attention is wholly on Teyla. He’s a pro at flying; the ‘jumper doesn’t lose an inch of altitude.

He wishes he was a bit more of a pro when it comes to reading her.

Elizabeth apologised. So did Carson. Teyla looked at them with a face that was both stricken and still, then only said, “I wish to go to the mainland.”

So John took her. He ordered Ronon to stay behind, stupid though it might have been. Yes, Ronon had experience with the kind of emptiness that came from losing his people, but Teyla didn’t need that thought preying on her mind during the ride out to the mainland. Or during the ride back, either, when they found what the others said they would.

She needed to see for herself - the way John had needed to see for himself, back in Afghanistan.

He knows where she is, he’s been into that darkness before and come out again.

He doesn’t know if she’ll let him help her, though.

A movement from the corner of his eye turns his head, and Teyla shifts, catches his gaze, and smiles. Then turns back to the distant shadow of the mainland, only faintly visible on the hazy sea. The smile isn’t happy and it’s not amused; Teyla’s just trying to pretend that she’s okay, trying to make John feel better.

John doesn’t want to feel better, he just wants to help.

They soar over an empty blue sea, to the broad, green mainland that is warm with the sun and moist with the spring, and without any human lifeforms on it according to the readings. Beneath the whining hum of the ‘jumper’s engines, John’s heart pounds with dread - not so much for himself, but for Teyla.

And Teyla sits, so tense, she’s almost quivering with the strain of keeping herself still.

If they were in a car, if she was any other woman he knows, he’d reach out across the cabin and touch her arm, reassurance that he’s here for her, an entreaty to stay calm. But she _is_ calm - inhumanly so - and John doesn’t want to think what’s going to happen when she loses it.

The Athosian settlement sits there in the bright sunlight, empty of the people who once lived and worked and played and laughed there. From the corner of his eye, John can see her shoulders grow rigid, can see the way she trembles as the emptiness of the camp becomes apparent.

It was a deliberate choice to leave the camp empty; Atlantis simply didn’t have the time or resources to take down the camp at the time, although in the absence of Teyla, they boxed the Athosian goods up. And there was the matter of Teyla and what she might need or want with which to grieve her dead.

John asked about contagion. Carson’s insulted look settled his mind on that score. He didn’t ask the specifics of it; if the doctor’s certain then John’s content.

“There are no lifesigns.” It’s not a question.

“No.” John doesn’t point out the large circle of burned grass nearby, black and ashen within a loose surround of stones. Teyla’s got eyes and a brain, she can guess what was done for her people.

“Put us... Will you set us down near the camp?” For the first time since he’s known her, Teyla’s close to breaking - he can hear it in her voice. And John can’t do anything. He can’t bring back her people. He can’t make things right for her. And she wouldn’t want his sympathy, if he even knew how to give it.

So he sets them down in the sun-bright field, close to the site of the pyre, close to the massive cemetery of shallow graves, each grave marked with a cross, and the spring grass already growing over the dark earth, a scar that nature will forget with little difficulty in the cycle of the seasons.

Teyla is out of her seat and striding for the door before the ‘jumper is even settled on the ground. John turns to call after her, but stops himself. At this moment, he’s not one of her people, a team-mate, or even a friend. He’s just the pilot who brought her here to make peace with her dead. So, as a pilot, he just performs the shutdown procedures and closes up the ‘jumper.

It’s the friend and ally who follows her to the camp, though.

In Atlantis, it was hard to believe what the others told him, although he never doubted the truth. Here, on the mainland, it’s all too immediate.

John remembers being told about Eskimo settlements in Alaska that were found abandoned, without a living soul in them. The Athosian settlement is like that - and worse since John last saw it full of people, heard the chatter of daily conversation, knew it when it was bursting with life.

There’s no life in the settlement now.

The disease started with one of the children - what seemed like a simple cold at first - and spread through the Athosians like wildfire. They coughed up blood, and nothing Carson tried helped. The Earth personnel who came to help the Athosians weren’t susceptible to it, but in the space of a week, every Athosian died.

Every Athosian, but the one who wasn’t there.

She’s here now, walking through the empty clusters of tents like a ghost, her hand reaching out to touch the tent sides, to brush the lonely windchimes outside a tent into jangling life, to grip the ropes that hold the tent in place.

He halts, wondering if he should intrude on her grief, wondering if she even wants him here, wondering if he should take her arm and lead her back to the ‘jumper, back to Atlantis and the expedition members there. He doesn’t want her here with the ghosts of her people.

She wants to be here.

At least Teyla hasn’t asked to be alone. John’s not sure he would agree to leave her alone - not when her people are dead and she’s the only one left. Survival isn’t always pleasant.

The wind skitters the leaves along the path beside them, rustling the leaves and the trees, blowing the fresh scent of the meadow thought John’s nostrils. It’s a scent of life and living and the empty, abandoned Athosian settlement mocks that as tent openings flutter in the breeze.

Teyla moves on, pushing open the tent flaps, one by one, as though searching for her missing people. John watches her in silence, helpless and hating it.

Heightmeyer took him aside before they left. _Don’t try and make it better, Colonel._

Try and make it--?

 _You’re trained to solve problems, Colonel. This isn’t one you can solve._ The psychologist eyed him with clear blue eyes that saw a lot more than he liked. _She may not cry or show grief the way we do, but she will want someone there - someone she trusts._

John didn’t understand - then.

He understands now.

He follows her through the camp, silent and steady, waiting for her to need him. She doesn’t, of course. This is Teyla. He wishes she _did_ need him, though - if only as someone to look at, to reassure her that she's not the only person left in the universe.

But he follows her through the camp, thinking that he'll have to organise a workgroup to pack up the tents at least, and to sort through the stuff once Teyla decides what's to be done with it all. It's shaming to realise that after nearly four years, John knew very little about these people who called themselves his allies.

Tent after empty tent, Teyla walks through the camp. He watches the sun filter across her hair as her hands clench in fists. He tries to imagine Atlantis empty, its inhabitants dead, the ZPM gone, and walking through the empty rooms.

John tries not to feel like he's spying on her.

To persuade himself that he's not, he pauses at a tent entrance, pushing open the flap to look inside.

From the partitioning, it was probably a family tent - space for the kids at the back and the parents in the middle.

If this were Earth then he'd say they had a girl and a boy at least. A doll pokes its faceless head above the rim of the box into which it was packed, and John picks it up, cradling the stuffed form in hands that haven't touched a doll in years. An inflated bladder-ball lies in another box nearby, shrivelled from lack of use and the slow-escape of the air inside it. But the Athosians didn't make distinctions between women's work and men's - a task was to be done by whoever was available and capable.

Didn't. Was.

John winces and sets the doll back in the box. The tense is correct, but he still feels bad.

And if he feels bad, how does Teyla feel?

He lifts his head, listening for Teyla, for the sound of her footsteps, for the shift of her clothing.

Nothing. Only the rustle of the wind and the birdcalls high in the air.

"Teyla?"

No answer comes.

He walks out into the sunlight, looking for the familiar form, the familiar gait. The sun thrusts into his brain, and the breeze is cold on his skin, chilling him as he looks up and down the broad avenue.

There's no-one there.

"Teyla?" She doesn't respond, and he feels cold fear crawl over him. It's paranoid, but she's just lost her people. It makes someone rash, prone to recklessness. John knows.

John's not ready to lose her, too.

He moves along the row, near where she last was, pushing open the tent flaps, glancing inside, looking for Teyla. With each tent, the urgency grows and his worry ratchets another notch.

“Teyla?” His voice profanes the quiet, but it’s worth it when the answer comes.

“I am here.”

John turns so fast he nearly twists his ankle. Teyla’s standing in the entrance of one of the tents, a folded cloth in her hands, and a careful, tense look in her eyes. He can tell her emotions are scraping the edges of her control, dragging nails down the blackboard of her restraint, and the storm is due to break.

“I... I was looking for you,” he says, thinking it’s a pretty lame statement. Of _course_ he was looking for her - he was yelling her name all over the camp. Then, because he doesn’t know what else to say, he asks, “You okay?”

As inadequate questions go, this is one of the worst. She’s not okay, and they both know it. But John doesn’t know what else to say or do - and if he’s trained to solve problems as they come up, he’s also trained to _do_ something.

This time, there’s nothing he can do.

Teyla shudders, like something has taken her by the shoulders and shaken her. John takes one step towards her, then another, then another.

She sags against him with her fingers in his jacket front. He can feel every tremor that shudders through her, not quite sobs, but as close as she’s ever going to get.

John just holds her, not knowing what else he’s supposed to do.

He hopes it’s enough, because he doesn’t know what comes next.

He doesn’t really care what comes next, because she’s still here and vivid and warm and alive - as Jinto and Halling and the rest of her people _aren’t_. John never thought he’d be grateful to be a prisoner, but those seven days of hell paid up the ante.

John once told her he’d do anything to keep his family. If Teyla had been in Atlantis when the disease began, if she’d come down with the Athosian disease, nothing he could have done would have saved her short of a miracle - and John’s no saint.

So he just stands still and tries to think of something to say, something to do, in spite of Heightmeyer’s advice. Surely something’s better than nothing.

Then Teyla lifts her head.

John doesn’t flinch at the recklessness in her eyes.

He doesn’t flinch when her hands slide up his front.

He doesn’t flinch when she draws his mouth down to hers.

He does flinch when her mouth forms a word that he can’t deny. “Please.”

It’s just a kiss, bitter with unshed tears. But John returns it, affirming the life in her, in him, in the world around the empty Athosian camp.

He knows he shouldn’t. She’s his team-mate. She’s a good friend. It’s wrong. Her people are dead and gone and this is just grief.

But desire is like sleep to an exhausted man, dragging him under against his will, and his hand clenches in her hair in fearful response. She’s here and her lips tell him how much she wants him, and God knows, John’s body is telling him just how much he wants her. Her fingers slip beneath his shirt and her touch sends his pulse into overdrive - and not just because her hands are cold.

Teyla doesn’t ever touch him like this.

John doesn’t ever invite it, although he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it.

He invites it now, drawing her against him, and softening his mouth against hers. If she needs this, he’ll give it to her. This is something he can do.

And she’s asking him.

From the reckless light in her eyes to the way she yanks his clothing off, she needs him. From the way she pulls him down to the soft weave of the tent’s carpet, she needs him. And John, more accustomed to taking than giving when it comes to sex, feels needed - feels wanted as she runs her hands roughly down his naked front and up the aching length of his erection, never relinquishing his mouth as he groans gutturally into her mouth.

He tries to tease her, wanting more than just a quick fuck on the floor of an Athosian tent, wanting to wrap his tongue around her nipple, drag his teeth across her clit. Somewhere in his mind, John’s thinks that any aftermath would be worth it just to hear his name called in an unguarded moment, to watch her lose control.

Teyla doesn’t want his gentleness.

In spite of traditional Earth stereotypes, in spite of the fact that he’s the one thrusting up into her, John is taken, ridden, fucked with an intensity that borders on brutal. Meanwhile, his mouth angles for any skin he can taste, and his hands slide across her skin, filling his fingers with every curve as her hands move on him, fingers digging into his shoulders as she quivers on him.

John sees the glitter of tears beneath her lashes as she comes, and his own release is suddenly bitter as he reaches blindly for her mouth. Even as he explodes into the universe, white hot atoms burning with ferocious sensation, he can taste the pain of her loss in the sweetness of orgasm.

He rides the tingling wave of semi-consciousness afterwards, aware she’s panting in his arms. The scent of her is sweat and spice and drawn in with every breath as they lie on the floor of the tent, the diffuse sunlight painting a visual afterglow across their skin as the wind hisses the leaves overhead.

She wanted this. Wanted _him_.

And even the bitter can’t completely wreck the sweet.

If this moment never ended, John would be content just to lie here with her in his arms.

Of course, it can’t last. The good things never do. Teyla’s fingers slide off his back, and she eases herself away from him without a word.

John tries to catch the tension before it shatters. “Teyla--”

Her fingers are light on his lips, but it’s like she’s sealed off his mouth with duct tape. John watches her, unsure of what happens next. Unsure of what he wants from her, what she wants from him.

The silence between them is offset by the soft noises of nature outside the tent, and her eyes search his face, while he watches and hopes and fears. And when she takes her fingers from his mouth and touches her forehead to his with a hoarse, “Thank you, John,” he knows where he stands.

He’s put aside, something she needed for a little while, but not for long. Sex was catharsis, nothing more. She would have fucked any man who showed her compassion, not just John. He gave and she took. That was all.

That was all.

As she turns away to get dressed, John convinces himself that he doesn’t mind. And he doesn’t. Really. But his fingers briefly clench in the rough nap of the rug beneath him as she clothes herself without another word.

Climbing to his feet, he dresses himself without looking at her, and only looks up when the flap rustles as she walks out of the tent. His flak jacket settles across his shoulders, and he buckles it with hands that don’t shake.

He was warned about the differences between Athosian and Earth relationships by a lot of people: Elizabeth, Carson, Ronon - hell, even Cadman tap-danced her way across thin ice in a manner very unlike her forthright bluntness. John’s slept with his fair share of women - more than his fair share according to Rodney. But he’s never felt so thoroughly _used_ before.

He can’t help thinking that if this was a hotel, she’d have left the money on the dresser.

And even the anger at that thought doesn’t stop the shaking fear in him, that he’s lost something that was more important than sex - an ally, a teammate, a friend, a future.

John pushes it aside. Time to deal with that later - when he has the luxury and she isn’t dealing with the loss of her people. Maybe it was just grief - he’d like to think she was at least a little attracted to him - but if she thinks he’s just going to walk away from them, she doesn’t know John Sheppard at all.

When he emerges, she’s standing in the middle of the pathway, staring down the aisle of tents.

John approaches her, striving for normal. “Is there anything you want to take back now?” His throat feels harsh at first, as though he’s been flayed to the bone and screamed with every lash, but it gets stronger towards the end - Teyla glances up at him. Her gaze steadies him, which is weird, given how adrift he feels.

Her hands rest at the tops of her thighs, fists clenching and unclenching as she considers his question. “I...No. Not now.”

It’s easier to focus on what he can do than what he can’t. “We’ll send some marines over here tomorrow to start bringing all this back to Atlantis. Unless you want something done with it?”

“No.” She looks back at the empty camp, surveying what is left of her people. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.” Then her shoulders push back, and although her gaze is fixed on the tents, John knows her attention is on him, gauging his reaction. “John...”

Tension crawls through his muscles. “Teyla, it’s okay.”

He hopes she’s not going to apologise. Because maybe this goes a bit further than ‘what friends do’ in John’s experience, but he’s okay with it. Sort of.

She doesn’t apologise. Instead, Teyla takes him by the shoulders, and he bends his head in expectation of another forehead touch.

The brush of her fringe against his forehead startles him - but not as much as her lips angling on his. It’s a soft kiss, light, but not tentative, nothing more than a brush of mouth against mouth. Still, John reacts as any guy would, leaning into it, relieved that she’s okay with him, and hopeful that maybe this means he might get another chance.

Now’s not the time to push it. Maybe later.

She’s the one to pull back in the end. “Thank you.”

Any woman from Earth would be shy at this moment, embarrassed by her boldness. But Teyla’s not any woman, and she’s not from Earth. Her eyes hold his, and John lets his fingers brush across her cheek in the silence, watching her face, trying to think of what to say.

He remembers being here before, on the day they met. Then, they were still John Sheppard of Earth and Teyla Emmagen of Athos; he thought her attractive enough to at least attempt friendliness, she thought him...well, he doesn’t know what she thought of him then. He’s not so sure what she thinks of him now.

Now, they’re still John and Teyla, but they’re both from Atlantis.

John settles for, “You’re welcome. Anytime.” Teyla understands him - she’ll know what he means. At least, he hopes she knows what he means. And if she doesn’t know now, then he’ll make sure she does later. When she’s ready.

“Ready to head back to Atlantis?”

She turns to look back at all that remains of her people, like Lot’s wife, longing for what’s already gone. Then she turns to John. “Yes,” she says. “I am ready to go home.”

If she’s quiet on the flight back to Atlantis - the flight home - at least the tension’s gone.


End file.
